Shades of Gray

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  I reached for the bag.

  “Not here. In the car,” Tracy said, glancing at the other officers, who were returning to their car. “We don’t want to appear to be tampering with evidence.”

  I hurried back to the car and opened my door.

  Chapter 14

  Tracy handed me the plastic bag without touching the phone. They would likely look for prints, but it wouldn’t be too odd if mine were on it—I was Jake’s girlfriend. I wondered, however, why he’d called Kolonda first with his discovery instead of me. It felt weird that he had done so. Then again, when Sawyer had gone missing, I hadn’t called him but had plunged straight into my investigation. I hadn’t asked him to go with me to see Russo, either. What did that say about our relationship? People changed and grew as they dated, as they explored being a couple to see if they were a good fit for the ultimate commitment, and I realized that as much as I cared about Jake, I really didn’t know where we were heading.

  I pushed the troubling thoughts aside. I hadn’t called Jake because I was simply doing my job, a job I’d been called to do because of my special talent. I hadn’t asked for this ability in the first place, but I was starting to believe it was my purpose in life. To right wrongs, to help people, to discover truths—even if they weren’t what anyone expected.

  What we’d discovered about Dennis certainly hadn’t been in any of Sophie’s wildest dreams.

  Stop delaying, I told myself.

  I reached into the bag. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of not finding an imprint about the kidnapping or discovering Jake’s recent feelings about me. About Kolonda. No one should have such a narrow peek into anyone’s life, especially not the person they loved. Moments of joy or anger or frustration are fleeting and can’t adequately show the sum of a person’s true feelings. While they may hint at the truth, imprints weren’t a fair way to judge an entire relationship, for good or bad. Dennis’s imprint on Sophie’s bracelet proved that much.

  I slid my hand under the phone. The plastic casing was warm, as though even in the bushes it had caught the rays of the setting sun. The instant I touched the phone an imprint came through. Something new, recent. Excitement at seeing Kolonda. Fear that he/I wouldn’t measure up. Confusion at his/my feelings for her.

  I wasn’t surprised, but I was hurt. It doesn’t mean anything, I told myself. Anyone would feel the same about an old flame—especially one as beautiful and needy as Kolonda.

  The imprint continued as strong arms grabbed Jake/me from behind. He/I threw a punch at the Asian, following up with a satisfying kick to the man’s knee. Whipping around to slam my hand, still clutching the phone, into the other attacker—a nondescript white man with brown hair. Pain burst in the back of my head. I fell to one knee, and hands began dragging me to the gray van. Fear pounded in my heart. Why were they doing this? What did they want? Who were they?

  The door of the van opened, and Jake/I caught a glimpse of another man’s face before a blindfold cut off his vision. Recognition flooded me. I knew that man. Me, Autumn, not Jake. The brief view wouldn’t likely be enough for Jake even to recall the man if he were to see him later in a lineup, but I had talked with this guy at length, studied him, and it was more than enough. The last bit of the imprint was Jake’s hand thrusting out as he blindly tossed the phone, and the thought: Find me, Autumn.

  The abduction had taken mere seconds, but it was enough to tell me what I needed to know. Other images were coming from the phone now. Older, rapid imprints, none easily identified. Vague, as though at different times he’d felt strong emotion while using the phone—frustration directed at his sister, Randa, warmth at the thought of me, excitement at finding a new herb for the shop—everything blended until I could barely pick them apart. I let the phone drop back into the bag and turned to face Tracy.

  “What is it? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I know why Ian canceled your date.”

  Her head moved back and forth slowly. “It can’t be.”

  “He was in the van. Jake saw him. He didn’t recognize him, but I did. I didn’t recognize the Asian at all. Not Saito’s man.”

  “If Ian’s involved, that means Russo could be, too. Either Russo’s the developer building that shopping center Claire talked about and Ian’s cleaning up for him, or Ian knows the plan and is working a side scheme all on his own.”

  “His law firm’s income isn’t enough for him?”

  “The more money some people get, the more they crave.” Tracy’s voice was bitter. “At least we know who has Jake.”

  “Where would he keep him?”

  “I don’t know. I say we pay Mr. Gideon a visit.”

  “You sure you’re up to it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Eagerness glittered in her eyes. “But let’s stop at Walmart and grab another blouse. It’s probably the only place open now. We’re going to make a nice little social call to Mr. Creepo Gideon.”

  I didn’t see Tracy as the kind to shop at Walmart, but my estimation of her shot up. This scorned woman was going in for the kill.

  A tapping at my window drew our attention, and we turned to see Kolonda standing outside the police car. I hit the button to roll down the window, but nothing happened until Tracy turned the key in the ignition.

  “Uh, I wanted to know if you’d found any leads,” Kolonda said before the glass had descended halfway.

  I was loath to tell this woman anything—this woman who might be close to reclaiming Jake’s heart. I glanced at Tracy, who said, “We do have a lead to a man we think might be working for another man, though we have no proof of them taking Jake at the moment.”

  I looked back at Kolonda. “That reminds me. Didn’t you say you kept the pen of that contractor who tried to get you to sign over your buildings? Did you ever find it?”

  Kolonda blinked her surprise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “If you have it, we might be able to identify the man responsible for taking Jake.”

  “I already know who owns the pen.”

  “I mean the man who hired him. Please, do you have it?” I felt some satisfaction that Jake hadn’t explained about my ability. I’d as much given him permission at his grandmother’s apartment, but he hadn’t talked about my weirdness after all. I felt a rush of gratitude to him for protecting me from the ridicule so often directed my way by those who claimed to be educated—never mind that science hypothesized the possibility of my ability’s existence.

  Or had he been ashamed?

  No, not Jake. He wore dreads, after all, and had gone all over town with me in my bare feet. I found myself smiling and feeling more determination to find him.

  I’m coming, Jake.

  “Well, if it will help. I think I have it inside. Do you want to wait?”

  “Sure. But hurry. We need to find Jake as soon as we can.”

  To her credit, Kolonda sprinted up the walk and into her house. Three minutes ticked by before she returned, holding the pen carefully between two fingers. “I already touched it a few times, so I don’t know if you’ll find fingerprints.”

  I didn’t care a hoot about those kind of prints, but I let her drop it into the plastic bag Tracy handed me. Apparently the police department bought them in bulk. “Thanks.”

  “I feel so responsible,” Kolonda said. “He was only helping me, and if that contractor did something to him . . .” She stopped. “I know you two are together, but Jake’s special to me. He always has been.” Tears started in her eyes.

  “We’ll find him,” I said. “Meanwhile, don’t sell out to anyone, no matter what they say.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think they’d let Jake go if I sold them my buildings? I’ll do it. I’d do anything to help him.”

  I was sure Kolonda’s two buildings weren’t the sole reason they’d taken Jake. This deal wa
s far larger, involving an entire block and millions of dollars. If anything, Jake’s snooping was likely the reason for his capture, not Kolonda’s refusal to sell out. Whoever was ultimately behind this wanted to keep all reference of the rezoning from the newspapers until he finished buying properties.

  “We don’t think anyone will contact you,” Tracy said. “But if they do, call me.” She handed Kolonda a card.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Kolonda backed away, her sadness evident. For the first time, I noticed her eyes were red and swollen as though she’d been crying.

  Crying wouldn’t find Jake. I gritted my teeth and stared straight ahead.

  “Beautiful woman.” Tracy eased the car into motion. “A relative of Jake’s?”

  “Old girlfriend.”

  “Doesn’t sound like she wants it to be over.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” The question to answer was how Jake felt about Kolonda.

  “Are you going to read the pen?”

  “Of course.” As I touched my finger to the fat metal casing, a wave of greed flooded me, sticky and sweet. I was staring into Kolonda’s beautiful face, anger surging through me. No, not me, but the man whose imprint I was seeing. Stupid broad. Just give it up. I told you I ain’t takin’ responsibility. Get used to it. My/his eyes took in a caved roof and the mess of insulation and debris spread throughout the room. “Look, I’ll get back to you,” he/I said aloud. “But you might be better off selling out to me. I’ll come by your office later at the university and bring you a contract.”

  “I don’t want to sell. I want you to fix this like you should have in the first place.”

  “Sorry. Ain’t my responsibility.”

  He/I turned to go, a skyline of one tall building standing among shorter ones filling my sight.

  The imprint ended, and another sluggishly followed. I was looking into Ian’s face, greed pouring through me. I shook his hand. Nothing more.

  I sighed and released the pen. “Confirmation about Ian’s involvement in the real estate deals. He and the contractor signed a contract that involved a lot of money. But that imprint’s old. About a year. I bet they’ve managed to buy or mess up quite a bit of properties since then.”

  Tracy snorted. “On the construction side, all they’d have to do is always be the lowest bid and then do a shoddy job. That’d be enough to encourage people to sell out later.”

  “Until Jake got involved.”

  “We still don’t know if Ian’s acting on his own or for Russo.” Tracy turned a corner that I recognized was close to Walmart.

  “I’m hoping it was Russo.” In fact, an idea was forming in my head of how to find proof that he was involved and using that proof to help Dennis and his family. It was a long shot, but carefully planned, it might work.

  “Really?” Tracy arched a brow. “Because I’d think he’d be the kind who would simply threaten people or make them disappear completely instead of wasting time doing shoddy construction work.”

  She had a point. I’d better hope Ian was working alone.

  • • •

  We arrived at Ian Gideon’s at ten twenty-one, thanks to Walmart’s self-checkout and someone at the precinct who found Gideon’s home address in record time. Tracy and I both wore new tops, so we looked better than we had, but I longed to change my jeans, which, if I sniffed with too much concentration, smelled faintly of rotten potatoes and gunpowder.

  Ian lived in an apartment building, and I doubted he’d have been able to take Jake there without alerting someone, much less keep him quiet. Of course, his first stop could have been the river, but I didn’t think Ian, even working with Russo, would be so casual about murder. Then again, I didn’t know the man very well. The only imprint I’d read from him had been on his ring when we’d shaken hands at the law firm—obviously a misleading imprint that had little to do with his true character.

  “I’ll distract him,” Tracy said as we approached the glass doors to the building, “while you touch things. He must have left imprints somewhere.”

  “Got it.” I was beginning to wish we’d stopped for a hamburger. My longing for food always cranked up a notch when stress was involved. Which, come to think of it, was pretty much all the time these days. The imprints I’d experienced in the past two days had made it worse, pushing me to voracity. “Wait. What if that employee of his told him about my ability?”

  “You mean that imbecile who called us when you showed up at the law firm, Ben or whatever? Ha. He didn’t believe a word you said, and I doubt he’d want to get on his boss’s nephew’s questionably crazy list for you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. What you should be hoping is that he’s home.”

  “Might be better if he’s not. Either way, I’m going inside.”

  Tracy stared at me, but I didn’t back down. I was determined to find clues that would lead me to Jake, one way or another. Deciding it wasn’t worth a debate, she pushed the buzzer to an intercom on the sixth floor.

  “Who is it?” someone asked after a long minute of silence.

  I couldn’t tell who it was, but Tracy had talked to Ian more than I had.

  “Hi, Ian. It’s Tracy. I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to say hi. I was hoping you’d be off work by now.”

  “Uh . . . Sure. Great! Come on up.” Despite the hesitation, he did seem happy to hear from her. Must mean that Jake wasn’t there, which I had already suspected but felt disappointed about anyway.

  On the way up in the elevator, Tracy called the precinct. “Any news on Sawyer Briggs? That’s too bad. Tell Detective Martin where I am if he asks. Meanwhile, I want any information we can find on any properties Ian Gideon owns. Please send that and the list of Russo properties to this cell. Thanks.”

  Ian was waiting for us in the hallway when we emerged from the elevator, a bottle of wine in his thin fingers. Surprise registered on his narrow face when he saw me.

  “I would have called,” Tracy said, her voice slipping into flirtation mode, “but it really was on the spur of the moment. Autumn and I were in the neighborhood.”

  Ian took her hand, holding onto it as he spoke. “I’m actually here just to grab a bite of dinner. I have an appointment in about an hour back at the office—something I’m taking to court on Monday—but I couldn’t stand being at work another minute. The funny thing is, I was about to call you. See if you had time for a chat. It’s much better that you’re here.” He grinned and held up the bottle of wine. “Have time for a drink?”

  “Sure.” Tracy smiled, which seemed to make Ian lose his train of thought.

  “Uh, come on. My apartment is over here.” He led the way through the well-lighted hallway to a door he’d apparently left open.

  His place was obviously a bachelor pad. No flowers or women’s magazines on the coffee table, no assortment of photographs or anything I generally associated with women, such as throws or knickknacks. Chrome seemed the overriding theme in the apartment, everything modern and expensive, from the white, silver-tipped draperies and gray leather couch that looked brand-new to the chrome-and-glass coffee table and silver floor lamps. Occasional splashes of blue appeared in pictures on the wall and in throw rugs over the wood floor. Unlike some bachelor pads I’d seen, I guessed that the decorator had been paid far too much for far too little. Poor Ian. He needed a woman’s touch—preferably from a woman with taste—and by the slight flaring of Tracy’s nostrils at a particularly horrendous blue accent pillow, I knew she thought the same thing.

  “Please, have a seat.” Ian indicated the gray couch, onto which I settled with a little sigh. It was far more comfortable than it looked, and my estimation of the room’s designer went up infinitesimally. Not enough to make up for those draperies, though.

  Ian sat in a chair close to Tra
cy’s side of the couch, twisting the cork from the bottle. I didn’t see where he’d gotten the glasses, but there were three of them so they had to be close by.

  “None for me,” I said, as he poured. “Though I’d love a cup of herbal tea, if you have any without caffeine.”

  “Yeah, in the kitchen. I think.” He hesitated before adding, “I’ll make you some.”

  I stood. “Don’t bother. You two talk. I’ll help myself—if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. It should be in the cupboard above the sink, I hope. I don’t drink it much.” He shrugged apologetically.

  Before I’d gone three feet, he’d already forgotten I was there. His eyes were riveted on Tracy, whom I knew well enough to detect the tenseness in her shoulders and the forced way she laughed. He was attracted to her, which I found sad under the circumstances because, after what we’d learned, Tracy was more likely to pull her gun on him than to accept another date. If I didn’t find a clue to Jake’s whereabouts soon, I might go ahead and help myself to her gun.

  “What happened to your face?” I heard Ian saying. I didn’t listen for her response.

  As I moved through the wide arch where I could see the kitchen, I touched one of the silver lamps, but there were no imprints. A two-foot silver statue, which looked antique but was an obvious rip-off to someone with an experienced eye, contained an imprint of a woman hoping Ian wouldn’t question the price tag she’d given him for the object, which she had bought new and sold to him after adding the antiquing. The profit she’d made was enough to make even an honest person think, however briefly, about changing professions.

  Laughter drifted in from the living room as I searched in the cupboard above Ian’s stainless steel refrigerator using a chair from the chrome-and-glass table. He had herbal tea all right, but even if I overlooked the thick film of dust on the carton, one glance at the ingredients told me it was awful. Ginger, of course, one of the last teas I’d ever choose, and unlike Jake’s new tea, this one had blackberry leaf in it. I didn’t like blackberry leaf, no matter how much sweetener I added, though if used in a smaller amount, I supposed it would be almost undetectable. Even if I didn’t know Ian was holding Jake, I’d dislike him solely on the grounds of this brew. No one should inflict such tea on guests.